Do over
by Mahalia Gaunt
Summary: Voldemort is dead, but Harry is faced with a greater challenge: Inexplicably, a small child appears where the Dark Lord had lain, saying that he is Tom Riddle. Remus and Harry must decide if Riddle should recieve a second chance... TROC, Set after HBP
1. Chapter one

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry threw himself to the side; green light shot past him and headed into the thicket. His lungs heaved and he could barely stand. This was it- this was the end of everything. Voldemort was finally mortal, and Harry could defeat him- if he didn't end up dying first. He moved shakily behind a bush; his legs collapsed from underneath him. They had been dueling for what seemed like hours. No one else was in the small clearing that they had somehow managed to end up in. Harry lay on his back; sweat pouring down his face. Voldemort had hit him with more than one vicious attack; his strength was almost gone.

"Come along, Harry. Do you really think you can beat me? Mortal or not, I am still more powerful than you will ever be."

Harry couldn't stop shaking. He had done so much, been through so much. He couldn't die now, not when he was so close. He strained to stand up but couldn't; it was an effort to even breathe.

Voldemort glided over and looked down on the struggling boy. "I always thought killing you would be harder than this," he hissed, pointing his wand at Harry's forehead. Right at his scar. "But here you are, half dead already, with no one's precious love around to protect you." He chuckled quietly.

This was it. This was death.

Voldemort sneered and began to speak again, but stopped sharply. The creature seemed to convulse, and a strange light came into his eyes. "Leave me alone," he muttered in a voice different from his own. The voice was familiar and sounded…human. "Get out of my head! LET ME GO!" he screamed.

Harry scrabbled backwards on his hands. He had no idea what was going on. But the Dark Lord had a look on his face that Harry had never seen there before- fear. The pained expression grew until Voldemort began screaming incoherently to himself.

_What the hell?_

All of a sudden Harry was hit with a thousand memories; Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle. Harry saw Tom being pushed around the orphanage; saw him weeping in his dorm room; being turned down by Dippet; every memory that had moved Tom to seek power and gain control over all. Harry saw him as a child screaming to himself much like he was doing now. And Harry understood everything. Knew how and why Tom Riddle had become less than a man. From deep inside his soul, Harry felt an expected emotion rise. Pity. There was something inherently wrong with this man; he wasn't just evil for the sake of it. He was insane on the deepest level. Harry wasn't angry anymore. He simply felt empathy.

Harry raised his wand and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

Lord Voldemort fell to the ground and was silent.

The young man sighed and lay back on the ground. Seven long years, and it was finally over. He was only nineteen; but he felt at least forty. He looked askance at the half-man beside him. Harry's resolve hardened and he berated himself for feeling sorry for such a monster. Uncountable people had died because of him. Ron. Ginny. Sirius. All Harry wanted to do was go home and let Remus patch him up, then go and visit Hermione at St. Mungos.

A mist began to gather; mostly around the corpse. Harry didn't question it; this was England, after all. He felt his eyes grow heavy and breathing begin to slow. There was no reason why he couldn't rest here…He slipped quietly into sleep.

Harry awoke groggily to the sound of quiet snuffling. It almost sounded like…a child crying? He sat up slowly and gasped.

A young boy sat where the body of Voldemort had lain. He was pale, small and thin, with neat black hair. Sharp cheekbones brought emphasis to eyes the color of onyx. The child had obviously been crying; his cheeks were tearstained. But upon noticing Harry's eyes on him, he quickly swiped at his face and drew himself up. "Where am I?" He demanded, sounding awfully cold for such a young child. "Who are you? Why have you brought me to this place?"

Harry was bewildered. Who was the child? Where had the body gone? He sat up straighter and leaned toward the boy. "I'm not really sure how you got here, actually. I don't even know who you are. What's you name?"

The little boy frowned. "My name is Tom Riddle."

"_What?" _

Harry struggled quickly to his feet. The ground spun; he faltered. He was still too tired to defend himself in any way.

"You can't be Tom Riddle. Riddle is dead."

The child stood quickly. "It appears you are mistaken, sir. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, and I am most certainly alive."

Harry stuttered for words. He needed Remus. Remus would know what to do. "How old are you, Tom?" he whispered distraughtly.

The dark eyed boy's lip twisted. "I am ten years old. I will be eleven next month. Are these questions truly necessary? One minute I am asleep in my bed, the next I am sitting in the forest with some imbecile. It is nineteen thirty-seven, sir, and we live in a civilized society. I suggest you act like it."

Harry closed his eyes and pressed his palm to his forehead. _This is impossible, _he thought. _What am I going to do with a ten year old Voldemort who thinks its nineteen thirty-seven? I must still be dreaming. _

He opened his eyes and smiled tightly at the fuming child. "Here's the thing, Tom. It _isn't _nineteen thirty-seven. It's nineteen ninety-nine. You know about your 'special powers' don't you? That's called magic, and I think that's what brought you here."

Riddle's brow furrowed. "You are insane."

Harry pointed to his scar. "Am not. You see this? You gave it to me eighteen years ago. I don't really know what happened, but I killed the adult you, and now here you are as a child."

Riddle's face would have been emotionless, except for the slight twitch in his left eye. "You killed me?" he asked quietly, taking a step towards the older boy. "May I ask why?"

Harry considered telling him about his….future? but then thought better of it. He didn't have the energy to tell such a story then possibly fight off an angry prepubescent.

"Why don't we wait until later for that story, Tom. Right now I need to go home. I suppose you'll have to come with me."

Riddle raised a dark eyebrow. "I would rather go to _my _place of residence." He paused. "But then again, if it has indeed been sixty-two years since I have been there, such a plan might not be entirely competent."

Harry's head ached. He still couldn't comprehend what had happened, and this child with an overly mature vocabulary wasn't making things better. He held out his hand. "Come here."

Riddle drew away. "Why?"

Harry sighed frustratingly. He had been having a rather good day, what with the death of Voldemort and all. But this snotty brat had ruined that for him. "Because," he grated out, "I need to have hold of you to apparate us. Transport us," he responded to Riddle's questioning look.

"That is alright, then."

Harry grabbed hold of the boy's shoulder gingerly and brought his mind into focus. They left the clearing with a small _pop._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

_A/N:_ I need you help, folks! Let's play a little game. Whoever thinks of the best alias for Tom Riddle gets a cameo as a Hogwarts student! Remember, Tom will use his alias for quite a lot of the story, so think of really really cool ones! If you win, you can choose you age, house, and how you treat Tom! You have until 8:00 tonight (Saturday the 14th) Central time. I already have the second chapter finished, so gimmedanames!!


	2. Chapter two

A/N: Thank everyone SO much for participating in my 'Tom's alias' contest! I got so many reviews in just a few hours! Congratulations to **La Nanita** for winning! She gets to choose who she wants to be! Everyone's ideas were great, and I wish that I could use them all, but that would mean I would have to make Tom a spy… But don't be disappointed if you didn't win, I love fan input, and there are sure to be more contests! Now, onwards to the plot! In this chapter, Remus and Harry must decide what they should do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remus sat down at the kitchen table with a thud. "I'm not sure I understand, Harry." He flicked his wand towards the tea kettle wearily. It began to steam immediately, and with a quiet, "Accio kettle," it flew towards them. Remus grabbed it and poured them both a cup. "Are you saying that the little boy asleep upstairs is _Tom Riddle_?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know, Remus. I really, truly, don't. That's what he said his name was, and since he was exactly where Voldemort had been, it's the only explanation."

Remus rubbed absently at his new growth of beard. _He's letting himself go, _Harry thought. _It's been four years since Sirius died, but Remus is just now letting himself realize it. He's been so busy with the Order that he hasn't had time to grieve. _

"I think it really is him, Harry. I think he's been given some sort of second chance at life."

Harry slammed his fist into the table. "What do you mean, second chance? He doesn't deserve one! Besides, even if that is what happened, _how _did it happen?"

Remus grimaced. "Harry, you know that magic has rules, and guidelines." Harry began to speak, but Remus held up one scarred hand. "The truth is, though, that magic doesn't have rules. We made them up to help ourselves. Magic is a force upon itself. It can do whatever it wants to. I think that something happened in that clearing. You felt pity for Voldemort, right?" Harry nodded. "Well, perhaps it's the same principle as your mother's love saving your life. Your emotion caused Tom Riddle to come here and get the chance at a better life."

"But if he's no longer in the past, wouldn't that mean that Voldemort would have never come into existence? Wouldn't the entire world be changed?"

The lycan's brow furrowed. "That's a good question. I don't know. Obviously the world hasn't changed, so Tom Riddle did become Voldemort all those years ago. Who knows, maybe this Tom Riddle isn't _the _Tom Riddle. Maybe he's just a copy with the same memories as the original. I don't think we'll ever know."

Harry stood and began to pace. "So what do we do? Keep him? I mean, I'd rather just kill him now."

"Harry!" Remus looked at him with dismay. "How can you say that? He might be a snotty, cruel little boy, but you can't blame him for things he hasn't done yet. Maybe if we raised him-" Harry's eyebrows went up at this, "Then maybe we could change him for the better."

Harry put his palms face down on the table. "Remus, think of the people that have died because of him! Ron, Ginny, George, Molly and Arthur, Tonks, Luna, Dumbledore, Sirius! And that's no where near all of them! Severus probably won't live, and Hermione's still paralyzed! How am I supposed to deal-"

"Damn it, Harry. You act like you're the only person he's hurt. The people that died were my friends as well. I lost people I loved, but that doesn't mean I want to automatically kill the boy!"

Harry grimaced and sat back down at the table. "You're right, Remus. I'm sorry. It's just…hard. But if we do let him live, what do we do with him?"

Remus leaned back in his chair slowly. "Raise him, I suppose. Send him to Hogwarts. We'd have to tell Minerva, of course. We'll say he's my son."

"Your _son?_"

Remus smiled. "There was a period of about twelve years when I wasn't with Sirius, Harry. It's possible. We'll say his mother was Rosalie Morlam, and his name is Oliver. Rosalie was an old friend of mine," he said, seeing Harry's puzzled look. "We were rather close about twelve years ago. She died a couple months back. People knew Rosalie, knew we were close. He looks nothing like either of us, but it's more than believable."

Harry frowned. "Why Oliver?"

Remus glanced away. "It was Sirius' favorite name."

There was a slight pause. Harry wasn't really sure what to say; he hadn't known about Remus and Sirius until_ after_ Sirius had fallen through the veil.

Remus broke the silence with a chuckle. "How ironic."

"What?"

He smiled at Harry. "If we name him Oliver, then his middle name will _have _to be Todd."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Why?"

"Think about it. Mix up the letters a bit."

Harry frowned. _Oliver Todd Morlam…What does that make? _He gasped. "No, Remus, we can't name him that! That makes-"

"_I am Lord Voldemort. _If he does end up evil, at least his name will be the same. That way we won't mistake him for someone else, I suppose."

Harry groaned. "So, what? We're going to rename him and send him away? What are we going to tell him?"

Remus gnawed on his lip. "The truth, I suppose. Or a version of it. He has to be aware of the fact that people won't appreciate knowing who he really is, and he'll need a cover story." He paused. "I'm not sure I want him at Hogwarts without one of us, though."

"You could always teach Defense again, Remus."

He laughed. "I would never be allowed, not in a million years. On the other hand…Madam Pince _has _retired… No. There are too many people that would disapprove. I couldn't."

"Perhaps… _I _could teach Defense."

Remus looked at Harry appraisingly. "Perhaps."


	3. Chapter three

A/N: Do I deliver or what? Three chapters in one day! I might just churn out another one before the night is over. I dunno, this story really works for me. I've finally been inspired! Please review, I need to know what people like and what they don't. Summary: Tom and Harry go to Hogwarts!

"Inconceivable. Utterly inconceivable," Tom muttered to himself. First he had been transported into what was presumably the future, then he had been tossed about and told that he would have to lie for the rest of his life to stay alive, and now here he was standing at a dirty train station amidst filth. The entire building was caked in dirt and grime. No to mention that people kept _touching _him; at least Potter had learned to keep his hands off. Speaking of the imbecile, whose fault it was he was even in this mess, where the devil had he gone? Tom was uncomfortable in large crowds, and he didn't want to face this herd alone.

"Sorry, T-, uh, Oliver, I didn't mean to lose you." Harry jogged up next to the thin boy, lugging his trunk along with him. "The entrance is just ahead." Tom simply couldn't comprehend how the man had been able to get a job as a teacher. He had read up on Hogwarts, and it was regarded as a superior school for witches and wizards. However, since they were hiring such young people to teach, it probably wasn't accurate.

They came upon the stone boundary between platforms nine and ten. Tom looked up at the older boy expectantly. Harry grinned. "Go on through, bud."

"Please do not call me that."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I really wish you would lighten up, Oliver. Remus and I are really pushing ourselves here to give you some kind of normal life."

The dark-eyed boy pursed his lips. "I understand your feelings, _dear godfather._ Please explain to me how I am to 'go on through', because I do not comprehend your meaning."

Harry grinned. "Watch." He began to walk briskly towards the separator, and as he reached it, went…right on through.

Tom debated on whether or not he should just simply walk away and never return. It would probably be much easier. But then he heard a voice whisper to him, _Since when have you taken the easy way out? Is this not the exact thing you have always wanted? An explanation for your differences? A reason for your freakish abilities? Hogwarts is a place where you can belong, Tom Riddle. _

Tom shook his head to clear it, and stepped quickly through the stone barrier.

"Would you rather sit somewhere else, Oliver? I don't want you to think you have to stay with me." Harry lifted his trunk up to the rack above his seat. It was a nice train all around, especially compared to the state of the train station, but Tom didn't really want to take his chances sitting alone.

"I will stay with you."

Harry smiled. "Alright."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as the train began to move. Tom could hear people on the platform calling at passengers. He didn't really mind having no one to say goodbye to; after all, one of the only two people in the world that knew his identity was sitting across from him. Remus hadn't come to send them off because he was still recovering from the full moon; not that it mattered. Remus might be his 'father', but Tom didn't really care about him.

A few minutes after they left the station, Tom noticed a gaggle of girls standing outside the compartment. One of them was brave enough to open the door and stick her head in. "Um, excuse me, but are you Harry Potter?"

Harry smiled amicably. "Indeed I am."

The girls all gasped and began to giggle. They looked about Tom's age, but they acted like they were silly children. He sneered.

"But Mr. Potter sir, what are you doing on our train?" The group inched into the compartment slowly. One of the girls stepped on his foot. He hissed in pain and scooted deeper into his seat. No one noticed.

"I'm going to be a teacher at Hogwarts this year, ladies." The tiny girls gave a collective gasp, and then all began talking at once. Harry held up his hand as Tom had seen Remus do countless times over the past few months. "But right now I would really appreciate it if you would move back to your own compartments. You really shouldn't be roaming around the train when it's moving."

There was a collaborative sigh of "Yes, Professor Potter," before the group left in much the same way they came in- staring unabashedly at Harry.

When they had left, the bespectacled man laughed heartily. "You would think I've been on some holy crusade for decades. I've only been gone for two years; there are still people at Hogwarts I was housemates with. But oh well, I suppose I'm going to be an even bigger celebrity now that- well, now that it's over."

"That was one of the most disgusting sights I have ever seen."

Harry looked drolly at the younger boy. "Oliver, you're handsome, intelligent, and apathetic. Girls just like them are going to be all over you. You'll get your fair share of disgusting sights."

Harry was right, of course. Tom sat stock-still in the back of the tiny little boat. He and his surrogate godfather had been separated when they had reached their destination; Tom had been escorted to the lake by a giant of a man whom Harry had greeted with enthusiasm. Since he was no longer with a celebrity, people were starting to notice him. Almost immediately after he had sat down, a group of girls had converged around him. They laughed and chattered and asked his name and if he was related to anyone they knew. He replied to their questions acidly; unfortunately, instead of being put off by the fact that he was the 'son' of a confirmed werewolf, they seemed to find it exciting. He enjoyed being the center of attention, but the company was dreadful. There was only one person on the boat who didn't seem to find him absolutely amazing. It was a rather unattractive girl that sat two spaces away from him. He appreciated her apathy, and took a good look at her. She was tall and gangly, with frizzy black hair and freckles all over. The only thing interesting about her was her eyes; large, sapphire orbs looked disinterestedly out onto the water. He smirked. If she had been attractive then he might have actually spoken to her. But that wasn't the case, and Tom wasn't going to demean himself by consorting with unsightly people.

He decided right then and there that he wanted to be popular. Not in the conventional sense, of course; he certainly didn't want to be some sort of prissy, giggling Casanova. He wanted to be respected. Envied. It wouldn't be hard. He would simply excel in everything he did. He wanted people to want to be him. The voice in his head hissed with pleasure. _What a good idea, Tom Riddle. You deserve to be the greatest there has ever been. You were born to be a leader. Use your power. _

Tom smiled maliciously and leaned in towards his admirers.


	4. Chapter four

A/N: Thank you to everyone that caught the 'Morlem/Morlam' mistake! That was a misspelling on _my _part. This chapter I have something spectacular- Tom gets sorted. Sorry it's so short, but I really want to get this in so I can get to work on the good stuff.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were about twenty first-years waiting in the entrance hall when Headmistress McGonagall arrived. Tom didn't really listen to her speech, but he was more than ready to head into the great hall. He already had a quasi-following of about six, and he truly hoped they were all in the same house as he was. It would be much easier to take over a large group if he already had supporters among them. It wasn't crucial, however. People were easily wooed.

_Calmly, Tom Riddle. Move too quickly and our plans will be ruined. _

It was right. He could bide his time. He had learned long ago that patience was a virtue. He strode proudly into the Great Hall, looking disdainfully at the other students. He saw Harry at the head table. He gave a little nod, and the bespectacled man smiled back. It would be good to have a teacher on his side.

He stood quietly through the sorting hat's silly poem, and waited for McGonagall to call his name.

"Dhimani Johnson!"

That was the little dark-skinned girl in front of him. She was one of the ones whose presence he had enjoyed, if only slightly. He decided that he would be pleased if they were housemates. She walked quickly up to the sorting hat and sat down. After about a moment, the sorting hat called out, "SLYTHERIN!" The entire table cheered loudly. Tom sighed softly. A few moments later the Headmistress called his name. He headed slowly towards the Sorting Hat. This was an important time; he wasn't going to rush it.

He came up to the hat, and just as he was about to reach for it-

"SLYTHERIN!"

A gasp reverberated around the room. Tom could here whispers of "He didn't even touch it!" and "Do you know who that is?" He smirked and looked around. Harry was frowning slightly and McGonagall had her lips pressed so firmly together that they were white. The other teachers were glancing about worriedly at each other. He went to sit down at the Slytherin table, but McGonagall grabbed his shoulder and bent down to his ear. "I expect to hear nothing but good things about you, Mr. _Riddle_," she whispered so quietly he could barely hear her. "You know as well as I do what you have done in the past. Be aware that we are watching you closely and if you show _any _signs of…recurring behavior, the consequences will be severe." He nodded slightly and detached himself from her grip. _I do not understand why people always have to touch me, _he thought with a shudder. He sat down quickly between Dhimani and another girl he had met on the way in, then laid his cheek in his hand languidly. There was no point in listening to the Sorting anymore, really.

"Natalie Stryker!"

The girl next to him, Giselle, drew a breath. "Oh, my! She's so plain! I hope she isn't put into _our _house. She doesn't deserve it."

Tom glanced at the person walking to the Sorting Hat. It was the girl from the boat. She was rather intriguing…

_Remember, Tom Riddle. Power is not found through weak and unsightly people. _

"I understand." He whispered to himself. Giselle looked quizzically at him "What was that, Oliver?" He looked at her drolly. "Nothing. I agree with you completely."

"GRYFFINDOR!"

So Stryker was a Gryffindor. Pity. He watched her walk over to the cheering table and sat down next to another girl. They began talking immediately.

"Isn't it amazing who they'll let into Hogwarts nowadays? And it will probably get worse now that the Dark Lord is dead."

Tom looked up sharply. "Do not speak about him in my presence." Dhimani looked at him as if though he were insane. "Why ever not, Oliver?"

"I said, do not." It discomfited Tom when people talked about Voldemort. In essence, they were talking about him. He did not like to think on the things he would have done if not for recent events. From what Harry and Remus had told him, if he had not come to this time period, his life would have been much harder and he eventually would have gone insane with power.

_But isn't that what we want, Tom Riddle? To rule as you would have? To be the most powerful wizard of all time? _

That was what he wanted. He just needed to figure out a better way to do it.


	5. Chapter five

A/N: Oh my G-d, everybody! Thanks so much for the reviews. I really can't believe me and Tom are so popular! So. I got you an extra long chapter since the last one was extremely short. We meet Tom on the first day of classes…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Wake up, Tom Riddle. Rise and greet the day. _

Tom's eyes snapped open. He rose and dressed quickly. The soft wool of Slytherin robes fit him nicely. On the way up the stairs to the Common room, he decided that today, he would be neither early nor late. He would be precisely on time to every class. The perfect student.

Giselle was waiting for him in the Common room. "Hello, Oliver," she purred, laying a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off. _Such attention should be welcome, Tom Riddle. She admires you greatly. _He sneered. Admiring or not, she was still _touching _him. Besides, she was much too young to be such a whore.

They walked slowly to the Great Hall, collecting other persons along the way. Tom's 'friends' had doubled since yesterday, and he was rather proud of himself. They all sat together at the north end of the Slytherin table. Dhimani joined him not long afterwards. "Good morning, Oliver."

"Good morning, Ms. Johnson." She looked at him thoughtfully as she poured a glass of pumpkin juice. "You know, Oliver, you look rather familiar. It feels like I've seen you somewhere before."

Tom raised an eyebrow calmly, but his heart began to pound. "I do not believe we have ever met."

Dhimani shrugged. "Maybe I'm just crazy."

Giselle giggled. Tom wanted nothing more than to strangle the life out of her. _Carefully, Tom Riddle. She may be useful someday, in more than one way. _

Tom grimaced inwardly but laid his hand on hers for a moment. The blond-headed girl fluttered her eyelashes and leaned towards him coyly.

_When she is no longer useful, we can kill her. _

Tom smiled brightly as Professor Slughorn passed out class schedules. Supposedly this man had known his other self when he had attended Hogwarts, and it showed. Slughorn timidly passed him the sheet of parchment, and then scurried to the other side of the table. Tom felt empowered. Even adults were frightened of him.

"Oh Oliver, how wonderful! We're on the same schedule all year long!"

"Magnificent."

Tom looked at his schedule. The first class of the year would be…

"Spectacular. Dirt." Tom wrinkled up his nose in distaste. Of course the first-year Slytherin's beginning class was Herbology. The only thing more distasteful was that they had to share the class with Gryffindor.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tom seated himself lazily at the foremost wooden table. In order to be class favorite, he had to be seen. Giselle was thankfully off flirting with some other boy, and a young man by the name of Susskind was seated next to him. The boy was large for his age and would probably not mind doing dirty work. Tom decided that they would work together; Susskind could touch the dirt. If there was one thing Tom hated, it was being dirty.

"All right, class, order! Let's get started." The Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, was just as distasteful to him as her subject of teaching. "In this class we need partners, and I've decided to pair you up a little differently this year- randomly." Tom frowned. He didn't want to be stuck with someone with as much distaste for dirt as his.

Sprout pulled out her wand and muttered a quiet word under her breath. Flames shot from the end of her wand, quickly forming names in the air. Tom saw his own, as well as the rest of the Slytherin's. With another flick of Sprout's wrist, the names formed pairs. Tom looked quickly for his partner's name.

_Oliver Morlam. Natalie Stryker._

How horribly ironic. He turned to look at the girl. Her appearance had not changed since yesterday. The blue-eyed girl strode over and sat down next to him without speaking. _Well, _he thought to himself, _she seems to be about as interested in me as I am in her. _

Sprout grinned broadly. "Well, students, do you see the person sitting next to you? That person will be your partner for the rest of the school year." There was a soft groan from around the room. Tom pursed his lips and said nothing.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The first few months of school passed quickly. Harry became head of Gryffindor house, and Tom made sure to congratulate him on it. They spent occasional Sundays together, and Harry made sure to give Tom a smile each time he was in Harry's class. Tom was a little disappointed in the Defense curriculum, but he reassured himself by saying it was only his first year in the class; when Harry came to trust him more, then perhaps he would be able to learn more advanced things. It wasn't that Tom wanted to use the Dark Arts; he simply knew that they could be used to gain power over people. The voice assured him that it would never let him abuse any power he gained.

Tom quickly became the most popular first-year in the school among all houses; this pleased him. Older students doted upon him; other first-years worshiped him. With the exception of Natalie Stryker. The girl didn't seem to be interested in anything, let alone him. They rarely spoke in Herbology; only the simplest necessities were used, which usually consisted of, "Pass me the trowel." He found the girl amusing.

Christmas was fast approaching. Tom sat in Harry's office, congenially sipping at a cup of tea. Harry leaned back in his chair. "I think that it's best that we both go home for Christmas, Oliver, especially since you've only recently been reacquainted with your Dad, you know?"

Tom looked disinterestedly at his fingernails. "I suppose that such an action would be for the best."

"Alright then, punk. Why don't you scram?" Harry said jokingly. Tom smiled tightly. Despite his attitude towards Harry, he really didn't enjoy the man at all. Potter was too content with his life; he had no ambition to become something better. Not to mention, his sense of humor was horrible.

Tom strolled leisurely down the hall. It was Sunday; no one was loitering in the corridors. There was an empty window seat. He sauntered over to it and sat down, resting his head on the cold stone. It was raining lightly outside. Everyone would be huddled around the fire in the Common room. He wasn't in the mood to join them. It would probably be best to go back to Remus for Christmas break; besides, he couldn't tell Harry no. And he looked forward to it, somewhat. He had never had a proper Christmas before.

_Why aren't you with your followers, Tom Riddle? _

**Because I do not want to be. Leave me be for awhile. **

_You cannot go home now, Tom Riddle. There is too much work to do. _

**I said leave me alone for awhile. **

_You are disgracing your name, Tom Riddle. You are a disgrace to your ancestors. A disgrace to your noble heritage. A disgrace. A disgrace. **A disgrace. **A DISGRACE. A DISGRACE. A DISGRACE. A DISGRACE. A DISGRACE. _

**Shut up! Get out of my head!**

_DISGRACE DISGRACE DISGRACE DISGRACE DISGRACE DISGRACE DIGRA- _

"Leave me alone! Go away go away go away!" Tom fell to the floor of the corridor and flailed, holding his head in his hands. The voice kept screaming and screaming…or was it Tom himself screaming? Everything began to blur around him.

_DISGRACE DISGRACE DISGRACE! _

He fainted.

Sapphire colored eyes watched his frail body stop moving from around the corner.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tom awoke groggily, and sat up on the hard stone floor. He was still in the same corridor. No one had found him, thank goodness. He stood shakily, and then leaned against the wall. His head pounded.

_Forgive me, Tom Riddle. I overreacted. There is no problem with going away for the holiday. _

"You are forgiven." Tom moved tenderly towards the Common room, the voice whispering soothing thoughts in his ear.


	6. Chapter six

A/N: Wow guys! Over 1000 hits in about 24 hours! That's crazyyy. In this chapter- Harry and Tom go home for Christmas with Remus, Hermione, and Fred.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You know, Hermione, your fiancé probably isn't too happy that you've been holding my hand for upwards of an hour," Harry said playfully, finally detaching himself from her grasp. Harry sat at the kitchen table with Hermione next to him; Remus was up and about cooking dinner, and Fred leaned lazily against the butcher block. A fire burned merrily in the hearth; Tom was upstairs in his room. As much as Harry was relieved that the adults could talk alone, he was also troubled by the fact that, although Tom was exceptionally popular at school, he preferred to spend most of his free time alone.

Remus turned to look at him from the stove. "So how is he, Harry? The same?" They had been home for a few hours, but this was the first time they had been able to talk about recent events. Harry had spent the last hour telling Fred and Hermione his version of the fight in the clearing.

"He acts like Tom Riddle; the exact same as anyone has ever seen him. He's popular, a Slytherin. He's already got a following. His personality is the same as well; cruel, cold, apathetic. Almost psychopathic. I think I'm going to have to spend a _lot _more time with him if we want him to turn out right."

Remus returned to the pot of simmering soup. "That would be for the best, I think."

Hermione reached out for Fred, who strode over and placed his hand on her shoulder. "What he needs is love, Harry," she said.

"What? He gets plenty of love at school. Everyone loves him."

She looked at the dark haired man exasperatedly. "No, Harry. At school he gets admiration. Hero worship. He needs _real_ love. How do you think you would have turned out if you hadn't had any real friends, but only admirers? Not too good, I'll bet."

"How am I supposed to _love_ the person tha- Hullo, Tom."

The young boy had come into the kitchen quietly. He stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the molding. A dark eyebrow rose. "You should not worry about me so much. I enjoy my life at this time. I feel no compulsion to create a cult and take over the world. And Harry, of course I act like I used to, I _am _who I used to be."

Remus leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Is there anything you needed, Tom?"

The boy walked over to the ice chest and pulled out a bottle of juice. Remus conjured a cup for him and poured it. Tom took a sip, and after a moment, said, "I would prefer that you call me Oliver, even in private. Doing so reduces slip-ups later on, and I…prefer it." He looked to Remus. "Do not bother calling me to dinner, I am not hungry." He left the room as silently as he had come into it.

Fred shuddered. "What a weird kid." Harry gave a soft "humph," of agreement.

Hermione frowned, agitated. "Why did you even bother concealing his identity? Maybe people _should _know who he is, so that they can watch out for him."

Harry gave a short, barking laugh. "What, so we can let the Slytherin's know, so they can manipulate him into _exactly _the person he was? Come on, Hermione. Be serious. Besides, would he have been allowed in Hogwarts if people's parents knew that their children were going to school with the Dark Lord?"

Fred scratched at his head. "But what's to stop him from telling other people? We couldn't stop him."

Remus looked over his shoulder at the young adults. "I don't think he will. Harry and I impressed upon him most firmly what people would do if they found out who he is."

"Kill him, you mean?"

The lycan grunted in concurrence. "Pretty much."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

**Hermione is interesting. **

_She is a mudblood. _

**Does that really matter? **

_Not if you do not want it to, Tom Riddle. _

**She does not trust me. **

_She is more intelligent than Potter and Lupin are. She would be a valuable asset. She has ambition. _

**I could never turn her. **

_We could. _

**Perhaps… **

Tom lay on his bed. It was much more comfortable than the bed he kept in the orphanage, but not quite as soft as his bed at Hogwarts. He sighed. Tomorrow was Christmas day. He had never had a proper one before.

**I would like to spend the next few days alone. **

_What do you mean, Tom Riddle? _

**Exactly as I said. I would like to spend Christmas with only my…family. **

There was a long pause. Tom cringed slightly. The voice had not been angry with him since that day in the corridor, but he became anxious whenever he thought there was a chance of the voice becoming agitated.

_As you wish, Tom Riddle. _

Tom sighed with relief. The voice had become a constant companion, but Christmas was a special time. Or at least, that was what he had always been told. He wanted to try out the Christmas season for himself.

**Thank you. **

The voice did not respond. A ghost of a smile flitted across the boy's red lips.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

"Wake up, Oliver! Come on, it's Christmas!" Harry shook at Tom's shoulder roughly. The young boy's eyes snapped open, blazing in anger. Harry backed away cautiously.

"Please do not touch me."

Harry pursed his lips. Tom's weird phobia had been a bother from the beginning. Harry hoped the accidental contact wouldn't put the pale boy in a rotten mood. There was an awkward pause. Then, Tom's face relaxed.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

The bespectacled man grinned broadly. "And Happy Christmas to you, mate."

They clattered quickly downstairs. Tom gasped. There was an _enormous _Christmas tree, decked in lights, garland, and petrified fairies. Hermione sat at the base of it, looking rather smug. She was surrounded by packages- five piles of them. One of the stacks happened to be much larger than the others. "I sorted the presents," she explained, "So that we don't have to do it while we're opening them. Remus is making tea." Fred lay on the sofa, asleep and snoring quietly. Tom chuckled. Harry looked at him strangely.

"What?" Tom glanced about him, thinking that Harry saw something odd.

Harry leaned towards the boy. "You...laughed. I've never heard you laugh before. Are you feeling all right?"

Tom's eyebrows shot up. "I am fine. I just found Fred…amusing. Is that so remarkable?"

"For you it is."

_ How strange, _Tom thought. _I do feel rather…pleasant. I wonder why that is? _It obviously wasn't because the voice was gone. Perhaps it was just the Christmas season. Tom offered that explanation to Harry.

The older boy gave Tom another look over. "Whatever you say, Oliver."

"I don't care _what _made the boy laugh, as long as we hurry up and open presents so that I can go back to bed!" Fred called from the couch.

Hermione clucked and threw a small box at the red-head. It hit him square in the stomach. "Thanks, my love," he groaned.

They quickly fell to opening presents. It turned out that the largest pile was _his_. There were numerous trinkets from his schoolmates- mostly useless rubbish. Hermione and Fred had bought him three sets of robes, a set of dress robes, and two Muggle outfits. He was amazed at their generosity, but Fred shrugged it away. "We have to look out for our little nephew, do we not?"

Remus gave him a thick tome called '_Advanced Potion Making_ by Libatius Borage'.

"I know how much you enjoy potions. This book was mine as a boy," he said, blushing slightly. Tom knew that Remus was as impoverished as he was, and appreciated the effort the older man had made.

Harry's present was a small replica of a Hungarian Horntail and a copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. _Tom smiled slightly. He was glad that his…family (he still had trouble thinking that) knew what sort of gifts he would appreciate.

"Look, Oliver, there's one more for you. It doesn't have a name on it, though…" Hermione handed over the small package. It was wrapped in simple brown paper and had only the word _Morlam _written on it. Tom opened it quickly. Inside the box there was a silver ring, heavily engraved in swirling patterns. There was an emerald set in the middle, and a tiny ruby on the underside, barely noticeable. Tom had no idea who it could be from, but it was the most beautiful gift he had ever received. Slipping the ring onto his finger, he at once felt refreshed and strong. _How odd…_

"Have any idea who it's from, Oliver?"

Tom looked up at Remus. "I have no idea. But whoever it happens to be is now a very good friend of mine."


	7. Chapter seven

A/N: Sorry this took so long, guys. My muse went on vacation and I hate writing when I don't really want to. I think it reflects in the story. But here it is, at last! A rather wonderful chapter in which Tom finds that he isn't a clever at keeping secrets as he had thought, and in which two youn people grow up a bit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the holiday passed quickly. School began again, much in the same way it had ended. Tom didn't worry very much about finding who had given him the ring. They could come to him. He looked forward to the start of classes, but when he stepped into Greenhouse one, he found himself inexplicably nervous.

Stryker was already at the table. Tom sighed, and then berated himself for even caring. The female was unattractive and had never spoken a civilized word to him. And yet he couldn't help but watch the delicate motion of her wrist when she flicked her wrist _just _right in Transfiguration; the curve of her smile when there was strawberry tart at dinner; the way her eyes shined when she was being witty. She terrified him.

He sat down noiselessly next to her. They did not speak, not even after being away for two weeks. That was simply the way it was.

Tom was in the middle of transporting a poisonwood practicus plant into a larger pot when the voice came back for the first time since Christmas Eve.

_It has been too long, Tom Riddle. You have been slacking off in your duties. Even treating inferior people congenially. What is your fascination with the girl? _

Tom frowned. "Not now," he muttered, carefully extracting the root from its soil. "I am busy."

_Why must you focus all your attention on this? We have important things to discuss. _

"This is a very delicate procedure, that it why." He finished transporting the plant quickly; the bell was about to ring. A small noise drew his eyes from the pulsing red plant. Stryker was staring at him, amusement gleaming in her eyes. She gathered up her bag at the bell and moved to the door. She turned to look at him and smiled softly. "I suggest you look up schizophrenia, Mr. Morlam. Something that has you screaming in agony and talking to yourself can't be healthy." She walked quietly out of the greenhouse door.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tom opened the heavy tome quickly. He had spent most of the evening fruitlessly searching the library for mention of schizophrenia. It had taken a while, but he had finally found an article about it in _Muggle maladies- what the poor blokes mean when they diagnose you. _He flipped to page 746.

**"Schizophrenia** (from the Greek word σχιζοφρένεια, or schizophreneia, meaning "split mind") is a psychiatric diagnosis that describes a mental disorder characterized by impairments in the perception or expression of reality and by significant social or occupational dysfunction. A person experiencing schizophrenia is typically characterized as demonstrating disorganized thinking, and as experiencing delusions or hallucinations, in particular auditory hallucinations. Schizophrenia is often described in terms of "positive" and "negative" symptoms. Positive symptoms include delusions, auditory hallucinations and thought disorder and are typically regarded as manifestations of psychosis. Negative symptoms are so named because they are considered to be the loss or absence of normal traits or abilities, and include features such as flat, blunted or constricted affect, little emotion and lack of motivation.

If a Muggle doctor has diagnosed you with this, it is best that you go to a wizarding hospital immediately. This disease is rarely seen in magical creatures of any kind; there is no known cure."

Tom rubbed at his temples. _I am not insane. That idea is ridiculous. I do not have voices in my head telling me what to do. The voice is simply…my conscience, my better half. It is fundamentally like speaking with myself. Harry does that all the time. _

Tom stared at the book for another quarter hour. Finally, he realized that people were beginning to glance at him strangely from around the bookcases. He slammed the heavy book closed. He needed to be alone. Needed to think. But where? There were people _everywhere _in the building. He stood. There was one place…

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

He sat all alone right in the middle of the Quidditch pitch.

He wasn't exactly sure of the time. Maybe it had been hours, maybe just a few minutes. It didn't really matter to him either way.

Time didn't exist here.

It was dark, and the stars spread across like silver dust scattered in a random pattern over black silk. It was serenely quiet, with the occasional hoot of an owl or a deep rustle of leaves in the trees nearby. He closed his eyes.

The soft breeze gently smoothed his hair away from his face and he closed his eyes and leaned back slightly, welcoming the light caress of the moving air. He liked it here. But he felt as if though there was something missing. Something he could not quite put a picture or a word to.

Tom began to spend less and less time with his companions, and more and more time on the Quidditch field. He slept there sometimes. He wasn't sure why it made him feel so much better, but no one ever bothered him on the pitch, not even the voice. Every moment that he wasn't in class, he spent sitting quietly in the middle of the field, completely alone.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Natalie couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned until finally, she rose. A walk would do her good. She didn't worry about getting caught; she had learned all the passageways and shortcuts long ago. The Quidditch field would be peaceful at this time of night.

As she approached the field, she saw a lone figure sitting in the exact center of the turf. It was Oliver Morlam. He was a Slytherin. She hated him. Had hated him inexplicably since the moment she had laid eyes on him. He had done nothing to her, said nothing. But she hated him anyway. She strode noiselessly up beside him.

"What are you doing here, in the middle of the night? It's against the rules. You're the perfect student, you should know that." She said emotionlessly.

"You should know that too," he smirked, turning to look at her.

Damn. He was right.

There was dead silence once again as she avoided his gaze. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eyes. She desperately wanted to leave, but she promised herself she wouldn't let him get to her. She couldn't leave.

She threw a look back at the school compound; half hoping Filch would appear and send them back to their rooms.

Then his voice cut through the cool air.

"I am here to find something," This time when he spoke, the smirk in his voice was gone, replaced by a more somber tone.

She took a moment to ponder his reply, and then she asked, "What did you lose?" She was about to add something rather sarcastic when the moon appeared from behind a cloud and she caught sight of his grave countenance.

"I never really found it to know what it is," His voice had dipped below a murmur, and she thought she heard him wrong.

"What…?" She asked, confused and momentarily forgetting all other thoughts.

Almost as if she was hypnotized, she sat down next to him, curious to learn more, despite the fact that she had always hated him in a way she had never hated anyone else.

"You told me to look up schizophrenia. That is a muggle disease." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Why do you know of it?"

She didn't want to tell him. She glanced at the ring on his finger. She hated him, but she was fascinated by him and everything about him. She looked quietly at the ruby on her own finger. "I'm muggle born," she said simply. "It's a common term where I come from."

He looked away, into the forest. "Oh." Then, suddenly, "I am not schizophrenic." She snorted uncivilly. A small smile twisted his scarlet lips.

"Do you hate me, Natalie?"

"Yes."

His smile widened. They sat there for the rest of the night, unmoving, without speaking.


	8. Intermission: Growth

A/N: Ok, guys. Did you forget about me? I've only gotten like 50 hits on my last chapter. Fix it! Anyway. This isn't a chapter, per say. It's an intermission or sorts. A passage of time. Review please, let me know what you want.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time passed. Five years, to be exact. The dense fog of the moors came and went with the seasons; eggs hatched; the flowers blossomed; the rain fell; the snow lay on the ground. The children grew. Tom grew too; eleven inches, in total. His voice grew deep, and his jaw developed. The annoying blemishes of youth did not touch him; his skin stayed smooth, but gained a light mist of dark hair. His shoulders broadened, but not too much. He was still rail thin, but with corded muscle. Harry was to blame for that; every summer, he would force Tom to practice Quidditch with him. Tom didn't enjoy the sport immensely, but playing reminded him of the pitch at Hogwarts and everything involved. Every night, he and Natalie would sit in the exact center of the field. They never spoke; never moved. But it was the one thing Tom missed on holiday.

Natalie did not change very much over the years. Actually, Tom would say that she did not change at all. She stayed gangly and thin, with freckles all over and frizzy hair. He didn't mind. Her mind was the thing he enjoyed. They had many classes together over the years, and though Tom would never admit it, he admired the girl. They both became Prefects in their fifth year. It changed very little between them; only that sometimes it was later in the evening when one or the other would make their way to the field because of rounds.

Tom grew academically, too. He quickly reached the head of his class; gaining admiration from all the teachers, even thought they never quite trusted him. Transfiguration was by far his favorite class; Defense against the Dark Arts came in a close second, but only because of his godfather. Harry found Tom's middling interest in Defense puzzling; Tom said that defending against the Dark Arts wasn't very much fun. Harry accepted that.

The voice stayed, and Natalie never mentioned it again. Tom found himself ignoring it whenever she was around. The worst was at night, when he was alone in his bed. The voice whispered in his mind, giving him ideas for their future. Ideas that could gain them power. Tom wasn't sure if that was what he wanted, but the voice always got angry when Tom argued with it. Tom learned to take the pain quietly; he felt no need for another expose such as the one in the Defense corridor. Tom wanted to tell Harry about the voice, but he got a terrible headache every time he though about it, so he kept his secrets to himself.

Harry grew up some, and became more of a father than a brother to Tom. They spent most of their time together on holidays, just talking. They talked about the future, the past; right and wrong; Ginny, Draco, Ron; everyone that Harry had ever loved. Harry never found a lady; he simply wasn't interested in anyone. He said that he had more than enough family. Fred and Hermione got married, though, and little Isabelle looked just like her father. There was another on the way; Fred swore on Merlin's beard it was twins. Tom's little family grew.

Remus didn't grow. In fact, he seemed to shrink. His hair became shot with silver; he found it harder to heal after every full moon. Tom knew werewolves never lived as long as humans did. He also knew that Remus didn't mind dying; after all, dying meant rest. And Sirius. So no one bothered him about it.

The summer before sixth year ended too quickly. Tom didn't want to leave Remus; he was afraid the older man would pass before they saw each other again. But Hermione reassured him. "We'll keep him around," she said, smiling softly. "Grandpa can't go until baby's born."

And everybody grew.


	9. Chapter eight

A/N: Ok, so half way through this chapter, I found out that Remus is actually a half-blood. I don't care. For all intents and purposes in this fic, he's pure blood, got it? It's like the basis for my major fluffy plotline here….

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The prefect's compartment smelled of sweat and hormones. Last summer had been _the _summer. The boys had grown enough to fit their feet. The girls had swelled and blossomed and become bold enough to smile at the newly minted men. Everyone already had their eye on someone.

Except Tom.

The dark haired young man lay languidly against his seat. He wasn't really sure what all the fuss was about. What use was there for women except to bear children? And there would be no need for that anytime soon.

A familiar voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Good morning, Mr. Morlam." It was Natalie. Tom looked up slowly, and felt his throat stop up.

A beautiful girl stood before him. Long, athletic legs supported a narrow waist and sumptuous curves. Ringlets of fine black hair adorned a heart-shaped face that was flattered with a dusting of light freckles. Full pink lips twisted in a smirk. The only familiar thing was a pair of luminous blue eyes, twinkling at him in derision. The girl- Natalie- was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. The outer shell finally matched what was contained within.

He gasped for breath, but quickly controlled himself. The handsome young man looked disinterestedly at the beautiful girl.

"Ms. Stryker. May I help you?"

His eyes must have given him away, because Natalie's delicate mouth twisted ever further. "Not at all, Oliver. I'll see you around, I suppose." She walked gracefully away, hips swaying in a motion Tom could not help but admire.

_Oliver. _The name had fallen from her lips delicately laced with disdain. But she had never used his given name before. They hadn't even spoken since the occasion on the Quidditch pitch in first year. Tom knew she would be there tonight. She had changed. Everything had changed.

"Well, she's a late bloomer," Dhimani, who sat next to him, said flippantly. "I only wish she wasn't Muggleborn. She might actually be tolerable." Tom grunted in acquiescence, absorbed in his thoughts. No girl had ever affected him like this.

_Tom Riddle, you are being foolish. The female is nothing. Do you not remember the resolutions we set this summer? We know little to nothing about Dark Magic. The gaining of that knowledge is the only goal we must have. _

Tom did not respond. In fact, he did not speak again for the rest of the train ride.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Why did McGonagall have to be so long-winded? Tom waited impatiently for the feast to be over. Despite the crowd, he could not help but sneak glances towards the Gryffindor table. She sat among her friends, occasionally laughing at some joke or another. Tom stared in fascination at the curve of her white throat, and sway of her hair as she threw her head back in mirth. He watched as many a young man approached her, blushing and stammering like fools. Despite the fact that she seemed disinterested in all of them, Tom wanted nothing more than to rip every one of the fools' throats out.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Harry wanted to shout with happiness. He wanted to dance and jump and hug Tom and Natalie both.

Tom was head over heels for the girl! But probably wouldn't admit it. Not that it mattered; Harry knew that Natalie felt the same way. He had watched on more than one occasion as the two sat together on the Quidditch pitch, and couldn't have been happier. Tom had been getting so much better over the years. Yes, perhaps he was still cold and calculating, and still hated to be touched. He still refrained from showing emotion. But Harry had a suspicion that with Natalie, much of that would change. Love from a foster family was all well and good, but nothing made a person better than romance. He remembered Ginny fondly, and recalled the way Draco had kissed him with his dying breath. He smiled to himself. Yes, romance made all things brighter.

The two lovebirds just had to admit their feelings first. _And that, _Harry though derisively, _will be the hardest part. _

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

The two sixteen-year-olds sat silently next to each other on the soft grass. Perhaps a little closer than in previous days. It might have been the cold, or it might have been the heat.

Tom wanted to ask. Wanted to know. More than anything in the world.

"You've been wanting to say something for half an hour, Oliver. Spit it out."

A reluctant smile ghosted across his lips. "Do you still hate me?"

"Of course." She looked impartially at her nails. The moon gleamed off of her glossy hair. Tom wished he could touch it.

"May I ask why?"

She smiled penitently. "Because you're a Slytherin, and a pure blood, and my entire life I have been ridiculed by people like you. I suppose you were just the one person I could thrust all of my anger onto. Not to mention that you've always been perfect, and you don't use contractions. It bugs me. " She seemed a little shocked by her own outburst.

"But…I am not a pureblood."

She looked at him exasperatedly. "If not for the werewolf blood you would be. And that sort of thing doesn't really count. The Lupin bloodline has always been rather untarnished, and the Morlam's are one of the most respected in the world."

Tom shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "I am a half-blood." She stared at him for a moment, not understanding.

"Oh…_Oh." _

She looked into his eyes with disbelief written all over her face. He raised his eyebrows in mirth. His father _had _been a muggle; it didn't really matter who his real mother was.

"Remus took me in for no reason other than love. Harry has always been more of a father to me. He isn't, though," Tom said, seeing the disgust on Natalie's face. "That would have made him, what, eight years old when I was born?"

"Then who _is _your father?" Natalie turned to face him, the curiosity in her eyes making them shimmer in the most fascinating way.

Tom sobered at her question. "I cannot tell you that. My heritage is…unpleasant and something that should not be discussed." Natalie laid her hand on his arm in compassion.

He shuddered, but not because he was disgusted by the contact. Far from it, actually- he was surprised at the shock it sent through him. It was the first touch they had ever shared.

She had a pretty hand; small, with tapered fingers and glossy, shell like nails. She wore a gold ring with a ruby set in it; the only jewelry he had ever seen her wear. It looked somewhat like his. Remarkably like his. _Exactly _like his. He drew in a breath sharply and reached out, turning her hand over. A tiny emerald glimmered in the band. He looked disbelievingly into her eyes.

"Hate is an odd feeling, Oliver."

She detached herself from his grasp and gracefully rose, then walked away without looking back.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tom made it half way back to the common room before the voice hit him. He hadn't been paying attention; all of his thoughts were on Natalie. Why would she have given him the ring, and in first year, no less? When she had hated him most. It was inconceivable.

A tidal wave hit him with a force greater than he had ever felt. He reached out and grasped at the wall.

_YOU REVEALED YOURSELF TO HER? REVEALED YOUR SHAME? TOM RIDDLE, YOU HAVE BETRAYED US! _

Tom slid down the wall to sit on the hard stone floor. He took his head in his hands and tried futilely to argue with the voice. It hadn't been this angry in a long time.

_YOUR FEELINGS FOR THIS GIRL ARE UNACCEPTABLE. SHE HAS NOTHING TO OFFER OUR CAUSE! _

"I don't want what you want anymore!" Tom screamed, punching futilely into the cold air. "I'm tired of doing what you say! I don't want to be a puppet in your stupid scheme! You're turning me into the exact person I don't want to become! You _want _me to be Voldemort!"

_Come back to me, Tom, _Voldemort hissed out. _You belong to me…you _ARE_ me… _

Tom fainted.


	10. Chapter nine

A/N: Oh dear, guys, you're getting ahead of yourselves! You all are making theories and putting the pieces together almost _too _fast. In case you were wondering, I'm answering a few questions and following a few suggestions in this chapter. That's why reviews are so important! This is my longest chapter yet, and IT IS AMAZING. Stuff goes down. Be prepared…..

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalie sighed. Why _had _she given him that ring? It had been her grandparents, and had seemed so fitting. Her grandfathers' ruby ring was Gryffindor, and her grandmother's emerald Slytherin. But why had Natalie given it to Oliver? She herself couldn't figure out why she had given the heirloom to him; it had just….seemed like a good idea at the time.

And he had noticed.

She had hoped that the similarity between the two rings would go unchecked, but the damn boy _had_ to be observant. She laid her head in her hands, looking over the grounds. It was well into morning, but she still sat at the dorm window. Thoughts of him affected her that way.

They weren't friends. They weren't even acquaintances, really. More like rivals. They didn't speak to each other, didn't move in the same circles. The only interaction they had was in secret, late night rendezvous that she couldn't fathom. There was something to Oliver Morlam that wasn't quite right, but she couldn't figure out what it was.

He wasn't the son of Remus Lupin. That had been a shock. It was a good alias, though; love child of two descendants of respected families, despite the tarnish acquired by the whole werewolf fiasco. Everyone knew Rosalie Morlam and Remus Lupin had been good friends about sixteen years ago. But why would Rosalie Morlam lie? The reason was obvious if the father was a Muggle. But the question was, why would Remus Lupin help her? True, they had been friends, but that was quite a favor.

She walked over to her four-poster and fell into it. Tomorrow was the day to worry about it. She'd look up the Morlam family tree after classes and try and find something more about it all.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_Rosalie Morlam-- (deceased) Spouse--none. Children--none. _

Wait a minute. Wait a freckled-toaded minute. This book was completely accurate- it changed as the families within it changed. So where was Oliver? She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair. None of this made sense. She thought back to the night before.

"_I am a half-blood_."

"_Remus_ _took me in for no reason other than love_."

"_My heritage is…unpleasant and something that should not be discussed_."

By all accounts, his mother had been a pure-blood. But was the woman in reality Rosalie Morlam? Oliver had lied about his father; why not about her?

Professor Potter was his godfather. He would know. It was unlikely that he would tell her anything; but in simply being asked he might reveal something. Perhaps-

"Why, hello, Natalie." The familiar voice held a tone to it that she had never heard. Then again, they had never actually spoken during the day.

She slammed the book shut with a thump. "Hello." She looked up from the library table.

Oliver looked different, somehow. Darker. He was impeccable as usual; every hair in place. But there was something about his face. Something about his eyes. They almost held a red sheen to them; it was rather odd.

He smiled, almost a showing of teeth, really. "Would you accompany me on a walk, Natalie?"

There was most definitely something wrong. Oliver wasn't himself at all—he had never wanted to be seen with her before. "Do you think being seen together would be wise, Oliver?" There was a slight convulsion to the young man at the mention of his name. His smile widened, however. "I feel no need to hide from anyone. Is that a problem for you?" Natalie could have sworn there was a light hiss to his voice. She didn't want to go with him, but she needed to know what he was up to.

She stood. "Of course I'll walk with you…Oliver." He reacted the same way to his given name as he had before. Oliver was usually near emotionless; but tonight he seemed almost…jumpy. He was making her nervous.

They walked slowly towards the entrance hall. Natalie assumed he planned on going outside. It was about an hour until curfew, but the pale boy didn't seem to mind. They reached the front doors and he opened one easily, holding out an arm, indicating she should pass.

He was almost…congenial. She was scared. But this was the only way to know what was going on. At least he wasn't talking to her or anything.

They slowly made their way to the tree near the lake. Oliver stopped and sat down. Natalie sat cautiously beside him. There was an awkward silence.

She glanced at him. He was staring at her. There was lust in his eyes.

"Oliver…"

He threw himself at her suddenly, his body landing heavily atop hers. She shrieked, trying to push him off, but her hands were caught between them. He grabbed her throat in one hand, the other grabbing at her body. He put his mouth to hers, pressing down roughly; his teeth dug into her tender lips.He ripped her shirt open with ease, battening onto her tender flesh.

"Oliver, please stop it! You aren't yourself!" She twisted her body away from him, but his hold on her tightened. He bit cruelly into her breast, making her scream.

"Don't address us by that name! We are Tom Riddle. We are _Voldemort." _She gasped in horror, comprehending everything. The false identity, the coldness, the insanity. But none of this was possible…

He held her close to him, breath blowing hotly on her face. "Don't you see, little girl? Your 'Oliver' is in realityVoldemort. He was brought back after his death to receive some sort of second chance." He kissed her roughly. She tried in vain to tear her face away, but his grip was like iron. "But since I am here, his 'second chance' is the opportunity to become even more than he was before. We will be," His eyes shined with malevolence, "Magnificent. _I _am the one that made Voldemort who he was, and I will so again."

She twisted beneath him uselessly. He was too strong. "Please, Oliver," she pleaded tearfully, "Fight it." His eyes flashed. Tom convulsed, and then suddenly drew back, his face morphing into a look of complete horror. His grip on her loosened. The red glint in his eyes faded. But then the sneer came back, and his hand whipped out to grab her throat again. A series of different emotions flitted across his face. She knew the real Tom was trying to gain the advantage. Finally, the look of fear took hold.

"Stop it!" he screeched at himself, grabbing his own wrist and pulling it away from her. "There is no need to hurt her!" His face twisted again. "Oh, but there is," he hissed. "She will get in the way, Tom Riddle. We must."

"Get away from me, Natalie," he yelled, digging his fingers into his own flesh. "I cannot control it if you are so near!" She quickly scooted back until she hit the tree, panting roughly. Tom's face pulled into an angry grimace; he reached for her, but then growled and threw himself back, landing a few feet from her with a _thump._ His back arched off of the ground; he screamed incoherently. The thin boy thrashed about, pulling on his hair and slapping himself. Natalie could only watch in horror as he fought with his inner demon.

Suddenly, his body slammed into the ground. His screams slowly dissolved into ragged moans. She crawled towards him. "Come on, Tom," she whispered, touching his shoulder lightly. "You can win this."

Finally, he grew still. His eyes cracked open and he looked wearily up at her. The dark orbs were no longer red; well, a little bit from crying, but he was himself again. She drew her hand back as he closed his eyes again. "Just give me a moment," he whispered.

Natalie sat near him quietly. She had had no idea that his…whatever… was this bad. She was a little stressed out. It didn't help that the boy sprawled upon the ground next to her was the teenage reincarnation of the most evil Dark wizard of all time, who had just tried to rape her and or kill her. It was a lot to take in all at once.

Her shirt was ripped. She gently moved to cover herself. She looked over to…Tom. It was odd, thinking of him with that name. It really didn't fit him.

He lay panting on the ground, still holding his head in his hands. She had never seen him so defenseless. He had almost killed her, but she could feel nothing but empathy for him.

"Tom, let me help you. Tell me why you're this way. You can trust me. I want to be your friend." Natalie flinched; had she just said that? _What am I thinking? He's already angry, now he's going to blow a gasket! _She thought. He had been rather nice lately, but that didn't mean he was ready for friendship, of all things.

"Come again?" Tom asked sharply, his crisp voice instantly ending the mental thrashing Natalie was giving herself. He sat up quickly and looked at her, fury in his eyes.

She gaped a few moments, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to come up with a viable excuse. Unfortunately, her mind went completely blank, and she said nothing.

"What makes you think I _need_ or even _want_ your friendship?" He asked with a dangerously flat tone.

"I…I…" Natalie sputtered.

"Friendship makes people _weak_. Friends are _pointless_; they only serve to derail you from whatever it is you want to accomplish. That is the problem with you Gryffindors and the rest of the school; you are all weak, you think that by _love _and friendship are the highest forms of supremacy. Well let me enlighten you, _almighty Gryffindor_. There is only one thing that matters in this world: power. The voice has taught me that. There is no such thing as love, friendship or kindness; there is only power and those who are wise and strong enough to grasp it. So in response to your question, no, I do not want your friendship, nor shall I ever," Tom said as his eyes flashed with some sort of pent up emotion.

As he turned to leave, Natalie cleared her throat loudly. She'd regained her wits by now, and she was angry. How dare he insult her so, when she had just helped him!

"How do you know love doesn't exist? Do you have any proof of that? You let some crazy, angry little voice in your head control you. That voice is _Voldemort, _Tom. He certainly doesn't feel love. He'll drive you insane, just like he did fifty years ago. Don't you think it'd be a good idea to give love a chance? It'll probably save you life." she said with an edge to her voice.

Tom turned around to look at her, his jaw clinched in anger. Natalie knew she had hit a nerve.

"You know _nothing_ about me and what I have and have not experienced. _Nothing_!" he hissed.

"Enlighten me, then. I know now that you're Tom Riddle. You have to _lie_ about your entire life. I already know that, so you might as well talk to me about everything else. You feel more than you let on, Tom— I can sense it. Don't be so foolish to believe that the mask of charm, intellect and control fools everyone, because it doesn't. There's something seriously wrong with you. We both know- you know as well as I do what just happened. Tell me what you're dealing with," she asked calmly.

"Why good could that possibly do me? You are probably the last person on this side of England that I would go to if I had a problem, which I do not. Good day!" he snapped before turning again to leave.

"I'm only offering you my friendship because I understand you a lot more than you think. I know what it's like to have something to hide from the world. I know what it is like to be terrified of letting people know about it. Contrary to popular belief, I actually give a _damn_ about you Tom, loath as I am to admit it. Sure, I may kick your ass at Transfiguration, and make snide comments about you sometimes, but I actually do…care, for lack of a better word. So come off that high horse of yours and mingle here with the rest of us mere mortals. You might actually like not having a pole up your ass. I wouldn't offer you my friendship unless I really meant it," she said with conviction.

Tom just stared at her, his fathomless eyes boring into hers. Natalie suddenly experienced the uncomfortable sensation of a natural telekinetic clawing through her mind, shifting through her most recent memories. She immediately tried to shut him out, but he caught a glimpse that her intentions were truly honorable. This did nothing to improve his mood, as evidence by the sour look on his face.

"It's not very nice to invade someone's mind without their permission," Natalie said quietly.

"So you see why we should not be friends, then," Tom said stiffly, before rising stiffly. Despite his irritation, he still offered her his hand. "Will you be alright?"

She brushed herself off lightly. "You just tried to rape me. Of course I'm not alright." He blushed hotly at this. "I don't need any help, though. And I won't tell anyone. Just…don't do it again. I hope you realize what he does to you. You shouldn't let him do that."

He looked at the ground. "That's never happened before."

She rolled her eyes, rubbing tenderly at her neck. "But it could happen again, Oliver."

He didn't respond, and turned away. He was about halfway to the castle when Natalie's voice floated up to him from behind.

"The offer still stands, you know."

He paused, but didn't look back. Natalie stood quietly for a few minutes after he disappeared in the Great doors.

She didn't know what to do. He had just tried to _rape _her. But it _hadn't _been him; it had been Voldemort.

She would go back to the dorm and take a very long bath. She knew she would have bruises, but they could be easily fixed.

Natalie couldn't stay silent. She would talk to Professor Potter tomorrow. If anyone knew how to deal with Voldemort, it would be him.


	11. Chapter ten

_She knows. _

**I know. You should not have told her. **

_We have to kill her. _

**I know. I have been weak. Thank you for helping me realize that. **

_All is forgiven, Tom Riddle. This situation will be easy to remedy. _

** She will not trust me anymore. **

_Then we will break through her defenses. _

Tom lay back in his bed, steely eyes gleaming in satisfaction.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Natalie sidled up the large desk in the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The professor was reading someone's essay, holding it close to his thin nose. "Professor Potter," she said quietly, glancing at Oliver's back as he strode out of the classroom, "May I speak with you? It's important."

The dark-haired man looked away from the scroll. "Of course, Ms. Stryker. How may I help you?"

**S**he looked at her fingers. "I need to talk to you about Oliver…And Tom."

**H**is hands twitched violently and the scroll fell to the desk lightly, curling back into a roll. His face paled to the point of translucence. "Come into my office, please, Natalie," he said quietly, standing shakily and turning towards the door at the back of the classroom. When the door opened, Natalie smelled something pleasant…cinnamon. She followed the tall man through the door, and peered around curiously at the Defense professor's office. It was cluttered with a myriad of boxes, tanks, and bottles, most of them full of creatures and concoctions that Natalie had seen in class before. There was a desk shoved carelessly in the back, with two rickety chairs piled high with books set in front of it.

"**I'**m afraid I'm a little perplexed, Natalie. Please, have a seat."She daintily picked up what appeared to be a chunk of wormwood and a bundle of feathers from the dusty chair and sat. The professor threw himself into the large wing-backed chair across from her. His leaned forward with his elbows on the desk, feverishly pinching the skin between his eyes.

**"M**y godson isn't the sort to tell anyone private matters. What happened?"

**I**diotically, Natalie realized that she hadn't actually thought of exactly what to say. "Well, Oliver didn't actually tell me. I- what I mean to say is, Voldemort did." She fell silent and looked at her hands, not sure of how to explain.

"**L**et's start from the beginning. Just tell me _exactly _what happened." Potter began to wearily rub at his chin, looking around the room. She drew in a deep breath.

"**Y**ou know how Oliver and I pretty much hate each other? Well, I was terribly surprised last night when he came up to me in the library…."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

When the story had been told, Potter laid his head down on the desk, tunneling his hands into his thick black hair. "I had no idea it was like this," he mumbled from the wooden tabletop. "He never tells me anything. I thought he'd been getting better, right? Being friendly and such, and then there was _you,_ but I suppose that I was just too focused on the good and didn't even bother to notice the bad."

Natalie reached out and touched the older man's thin hand. "It's not your fault, Professor, you couldn't have known. Oliver keeps everything to himself, you couldn't have just _known._"

He garbled something unintelligible under his breath and stood abruptly. Natalie drew her hand back and laid it in her lap, waiting expectantly. Potter began to pace, black robes swinging in the repetitive motion. "We have to fix this. You and I only, though. We can't let others know."

"Why? We could use the-"

He turned to her. "We can't. Anyone that knew he was like this would kill him on the spot. I would have done the same thing a few years ago, but now I can't. He's a good person, Natalie. Under all the cold and hate, he really is. We just have to figure out a way to get him to bring that to the forefront. We can't do too much, too soon. If Voldemort is Oliver's head, then he's listening all the time. I'm afraid most of the work will fall to you, my dear."

"What do I do?"

He clasped her shoulder gently. "For now, keep that offer of friendship open. Be nice to him. Try to be his friend. He'll hate it, and do all sorts of things to get you to go away, but we have to try something. Just be careful. There's no telling what sort of thing Voldemort has planned."

She stood and made her way to the door. "I'll do my best, Professor." He nodded, and she made her leave.

Harry sat down at his desk once more. "I hope," he whispered, putting a hand to his face, "That your love will be enough to save him."

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Natalie walked briskly down the hallway, head lowered; she needed to get back to the dorm without anyone distracting her. She needed a game plan. A really, really, good one.

"Natalie!"

_Danggit. _

She turned with a smile as Amelia Murphy, her closest friend, approached her at a slow jog. "You missed dinner, Nat. Where were you?" The five foot nothing blonde grasped onto Natalie's sleeve with the sort of rugged tenacity that belonged in a dog. Bless her heart; Murphy had always reminded Natalie of a dog, the little kind, perhaps a terrier. And at that particular moment, Natalie found the girl just as annoying as those tiny, barking terrors.

"Sorry, Murph. I wasn't hungry, so I went to the library. What's up? I'm sort of in a hurry--" Natalie began to walk again, but Murphy kept hold of her arm and thrust a piece of paper into her hand.

"Oliver Morlam wanted me to give you this."

Natalie felt her heart pound out three rapid beats. "Wha- Really?"

Murphy's golden eyebrows shot up, disappearing under her fringe of bangs. "Mhm. I hope you have some intention of telling me about this." Natalie didn't respond. She looked at the folded piece of parchment in bewilderment. Oliver wasn't supposed to want to have anything to do with her. What in the world…

"You _are _going to tell me, right?" Murphy pinched lightly at the back of Natalie's arm. "Right?"

Natalie grunted in agreement and pulled away. She turned and headed for the library, leaving Murphy befuddled behind her.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

_Ms. Stryker, _

_I earnestly hope that our misunderstanding last evening will not interfere with our nightly tradition. _

_I would like to speak with you, as well. _

_Sincerely, _

_Oliver Morlam _

Natalie sighed, puzzled. What could he want to talk to her about? Her lip twisted. _At least he's willing to talk to me at all._

She opened the Great Door as quietly as possible, drifting out into the cool night air.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Yes, I'm leaving you there. Quasi-cliffhanger. Sorry. It's not as long as I wanted it to be, but I felt bad for not posting in 4 years. And by 4 years I mean like a month. That's a long time. But now that I have ONE day of school left, chapters will soon be mass produced. Hurray! Don't forget to review, please. For reals. They's my life force, and what keep me grammar good.


	12. Chapter eleven

A/N: Ngh. Teen rating in full effect. Whoo. Awful short, but awful fun. This chapter kind of sucks and there's no major plot development. Forgive me. Reviews?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was already there, standing quietly in the midst of the green. She came up to him slowly, his note clenched in her small fist.

"Hullo."

"Good evening."

There was an awkward pause as both teenagers tried to find something to say. Natalie shifted tensely from foot to foot. "Um. Oliver."

"The voice is gone." She looked sharply at the tall boy, raven-colored hair falling gently into her beautiful face. "What?"

He moved towards her, grasping onto her shoulders, speaking passionately. "It's gone, it's gone! I'm all alone inside my head! After last night it just left! I went to St. Mungo's this morning and they say that I'm completely fine!" The contractions fell fluidly from his lips. Natalie simply stared up at him, her luminous blue eyes slowly reaching realization. "Oliver! That's wonderful!" She hugged him tightly, and he felt nothing but happiness at her touch.

He drew back slightly, keeping his hold on her, but moving his hands down to her waist. "There's something else, Natalie. I…" He frowned and took a breath. "What I mean to say is that I…" _Love you. _It should have been simple enough to say. But the words stuck hard in his throat. He'd never said them before, and she was so beautiful, that every time he told his mouth to make the sounds, something shut down along the way.

Natalie looked up at him, her eyes flickering over his face. She reached up a hand and touched his forehead, her fingers light, gentle, warm. Silence fell heavy on the pitch. He stood there staring stupidly at her, not knowing how to express what he meant.

Finally, he leaned down and kissed her, like he was trying to push the words out of his useless mouth and into her. He wasn't sure if she understood, but she melted into him, all warm, soft tension, smelling of cinnamon, the sweetness of her lips soft and pliant beneath his. One of his hands drifted to the small of her back, to the smooth, rounded ridges of muscle on either side if her spine, and drew her against him a little harder. The kiss deepened, slowed, became something more intense and erotic and self- contained. The motion of their lips, the warmth of her body pressed against his cool skin. The touch of his fingertips on her face, featherlight. The scratch of her nails as her fingers kneaded at his shirt. His heart pounded, and he could feel hers, too, racing.

She broke the kiss first, and he swayed on his feet, all breath gone. Without speaking, she sat him down beside her on the grass, her warm hands clasped around one of his cool ones. "I love you, Oliver."

He closed his eyes and said softly, "I think I'm afraid to love, Natalie. I'm not even sure if I know what it is. But I know it's hard."

She scooted in closer to him. "So, yes, love is horribly stupid and completely catastrophic. Yes, you have to spend a lot of time buying gifts, and remembering dates. Yes, there is an awful lot of sacrificing bed space and mental sanity. But love's also about waking up to the warmth of another body beside you, love's sharing the last cookie and ending up with a lot more than just chocolate chips in your mouth, love's about soft reassuring touches and firm hands supporting you when you're pissed out of your mind and can't stand up for shit. Love is all that and more. And I'm willing to have that with you, Oliver."

He didn't open his eyes, but swallowed a hard lump in his throat. "If that's what love is, then that's what I want. I…love you, Natalie. More than anything."

He felt her come to him then. She undressed him. Slowly. Delicately. He felt her bare skin against his, hot and smooth. He opened his eyes and saw the silver haze of the moon on the far horizon, across the lake. He saw Natalie outlined in it, all sweetly feminine curves and lines, a beautiful shadow. She kissed him again, and he returned it in kind, and it was a liquid, smooth thing, as restrained and desperate as the near-still surface of a rushing river. Her lips passed from his mouth and roamed over his skin, and when he tried to touch her, she gently pressed his hands back down, telling me without words to be still.

It went on like that, all skin and light touches, soft sighs, pounding hearts. They moved together, feeling the power of their need, their hunger for one another, a pure blend of desire and warmth and affection and incredible intimacy that shook them to the core. It ended in silence, the sensation all the more piercing for that, their mouths together, their breath mingling.

She lay down beside him until their pounding hearts slowed down. "Love you so much," he mumbled into her hair. She pressed against him, her nose tucked into the curve of his neck. "I love you, Oliver."

Tom's eyes opened with a jerk. He looked dazedly about him. He was on the Quidditch field, fully dressed, and uncomfortably aroused.

It had all been a dream.

The real life Natalie was no where to be seen, but the letter he had sent her that afternoon lay on his stomach, a note scribbled across the back.

_You looked too peaceful to wake up. Meet you here tomorrow. _

Tom walked quickly off of the field, intent on nothing more than ridding himself of his uncomfortable predicament. However, just before he reached the Great Doors, he heard the voice.

_You are an imbecile. _

**I- **

_However, we can use this to our advantage. She may consider your behavior…attractive. _

Tom blushed at the thought of Natalie finding him attractive. A sudden onslaught of pain engulfed his body.

_Do not think that I am ignorant of your attraction to this girl, Tom Riddle. Such things must be checked. _

Tom's screams broke through the cool night air.


	13. Intermission: Fade to Black

IF YOU DON'T READ THIS YOU'LL BE LOST. I'm so so so sorry. Not only has it taken me _forever _to post, but my last chapter was crap. I'm afraid that I'm suffering from a bout of mid-story writer's block. I have a good beginning, a great basis, and I know where I want to go, I just can't get there! So I'm going with the "write something. Anything!" approach. And when I write random, I write about Remus. I planned on this subplot anyway, and yes, same universe, etc. I stole a bit from another story I wrote, _Of dogs and collars _(which you should totally read if you haven't!), just in case a bit seems familiar. I **will **get another real, not sucky chapter up in the near future. I have about a paragraph written, but I have no real plot.

Help me….

**_WARNING: _**Yes, this is slash. If you don't like it, don't read it! You'll find out what happens in later chapters. (You _should _read it, I'm rather proud of myself…)

Onwards!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Remus awoke, startled. "Padfoot?"

_Sirius sat at the edge of his bed. "Have a bad dream again, Moony?" _

_The pale teenager wiped the sweat from his pale brow. "Yeah, sorry, I'm sorry I woke you, it's just-" _

_"Don't worry about it, ok? Now scoot over." _

But Sirius wasn't there. Remus remembered suddenly why he had woken up. His chest hurt. Bad. He drew in a shaky breath as the burning pain spread to his left arm.

He couldn't breathe. What was wrong with him? Everything felt so tight, like someone was squeezing on his heart.

"Padfoot…"

_"Padfoot, get off me! I can't breathe!" _

_Sirius jumped high on the bed again and brought himself down hard on Remus' chest, causing the smaller boy to groan in pain. _

_"That's what you get for being boring! Now c'mon, play with me!" _

_Remus threw his book to the side. "Can't James entertain you?" _

_"No, he's off chasing Evans, and Peter's off chasing James, and I don't have anything to do!" _

_Remus rolled his eyes. "Fine. I give up. What do you want to do?" _

_Sirius grinned rakishly. "Wrestle." And he pounced again. _

He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't see. He could feel sweat pouring off of him, and the burning, squeezing _tightness_…

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He found himself in the strangest place.

It was like a house, but with no walls. He saw a few bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, living room. He guessed he was standing in the study. Everything was decorated in rich, earthy tones, almost exactly as their apartment had been when Remus and Sirius has lived together. In fact, the place looked exactly as their apartment had, minus walls. Straw mats rolled up to the ceiling suggested the possibility of them, though. Another strange thing was that the house wasn't on the _ground; _it was high up in the trees. He looked over the edge of the floor and saw an enormous forest below; he had to be at least two hundred feet in the air, nestled in the crook of the biggest oak tree he had ever seen. There was an ocean in the distance, which didn't make any sense, but none of this made any sense. He looked around the office. There was a man at the desk…

"Padfoot?"

Sirius stood up, startled.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

_"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" _

_Sirius smiled. "I'm trying to seduce you, of course." _

_"Well, it's- wait, what?" _

_Sirius rolled his eyes and stuck out a hip, crossing his arms. "Look, Moony, I dunno what crawled into your shorts to make you break up with me, but I want you back, right?" _

_Remus sputtered. "But-but… what about James?" _

_"What about James?" _

_Sirius frowned, but then he started to laugh. "Oi, Moony, I don't fancy James, he's just my best mate, yeah? I don't even fancy blokes- which is, I mean to say," he stumbled, seeing the expression on Remus' face, "I don't fancy any other bloke but you. I don't fancy anyone but you." _

_Remus took hold of Sirius' collar, pulling him close. "Then what's up with the dog collar? Why didn't you just say that to start off?" _

_Sirius smirked, and whispered, "Because I knew you couldn't resist," right before Remus smashed their lips together. _

"I don't know, Sirius. I don't care."

He strode over and kissed the taller man. Hard. Sirius pulled away, moaning, "But Remus, this is my heaven, not yours! Yours is supposed to be full of books, and chocolate-"

"I'm dead?"

"Oh. You didn't know."

Remus punched him in the face.

"Ow!"

Remus shook his finger in the other man's face, whom he noticed no longer had any tattoos. "Of course we're in the same heaven, you dolt! Of course I'm here…" He pulled Sirius in to his arms gently, resting his forehead in the crook where it had always fit. "Of course I'm here. Heaven for me is wherever you are. Anywhere else would be hell."

Sirius wrapped his arms tightly around the lycan. "I'd hoped you'd felt that way. It's been torture here without you." He tilted Remus' face up and kissed him gently. "I missed you."

They simply looked at each other for a few moments before Remus whispered, "How did I die?"

"Heart attack."

Remus nodded. "The doctors said that might happen. Too much stress on my body for too long a time."

Sirius smiled softly. "You're the oldest werewolf I ever knew. But you don't have to be a werewolf anymore if you don't want to. You get that choice, being deceased and all."

Remus chuckled, but then quieted at the look on Sirius' face.

"What is it, Padfoot?"

Sirius frowned. "I just…didn't expect you to come so soon. I mean, I knew when it happened, I can watch people, but it's just that, well, I mean, I dunno, that-"

"Spit it out."

"Harry's still so young, and with you gone…"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Harry will be twenty-five soon. He's grown into a wonderful man, you should know that. Fred and Hermione will take good care of him. Don't worry; I made sure I left him a support system."

Sirius smiled. "You always did make sure everyone was well taken care of."

_Noises from the Great Hall leaked out into the corridor. The feast was almost over. Remus leaned against the wall, and watched as Sirius came back from the infirmary. _

_"The end of fifth year has been ruined, but Peter will be fine. He just had a stomach ache. It's the end of the year; of course he ate too much! Why do you always have to take care of everybody, Moony?" _

_"I dunno…I just do, I guess." _

_Sirius walked up to the smaller boy and looked down at him, frowning in thought. "Well…who takes care of you?" _

_Remus shifted uncomfortably under the black-eyed gaze. " I suppose I just take of m'self, I guess," he muttered, knowing that his grammar had completely deserted him in nervousness. _

_Sirius leaned close, pushing Remus softly against the wall. _

_"Let me take care of you, Moony." _

_The dark haired boy leaned in close and kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth, and when Remus didn't resist Sirius brought their lips together fully. _

_This was their first kiss…Remus thought to himself dreamily. _

Sirius brushed a strand of hair back from Remus' face. "What are you thinking about?"

Remus blushed. "Our first kiss."

"We can be like that forever, Moony." Sirius, as he had been at sixteen, stretched out his hand. Remus suddenly felt younger, healthier, as he had thirty years ago.

"I'd like that very much." Remus smiled and took Sirius' hand.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm sorry this is sort of sad. Did I do a good job at describing Sirius' heaven? I didn't think he would want walls, after so many years in prison. And the forest, and the ocean, and yeah….What do you think? I was actually thinking about people's separate heavens and hells, and I definitely think Remus' hell would be an endless transformation. (Ahhhh….) And Sirius' would have something to do with Dementors and his loved ones and WOW that's depressing. I'm done.

**OMG LOOK A PREVIEW OF NEXT CHAPTER!!! **

**Tom's eyes looked dead. Not the sort of dead she had seen when he was being controlled by the more sinister part of his brain dead, but…he looked like he had given up. This was in bright contrast to the brilliant smile he gave her as she walked into potions class. She had almost been late today, of course, and the only open seat was next to him. Of course. Not that she really minded sitting next to the dark haired young man, but being that close to him always made her heart race and her palms sweat in a way that she was sure he could notice. She threw herself down onto the stool anyway.**

**"Good morning, Natalie."**

**She looked at him, and knew something was wrong. "What's happened, Oliver? Something's wrong, you might as well say."**

**His smile withered immediately. "Remus died last night."**


	14. Chapter twelve

Good people, I missed you. But please, please I pray you, hear this now, for I would lay rest the grace in my tongue and speak plainly. Days like these are far too rare to cheapen with heavy handed words, and so, I'm afraid without any ado whatsoever...here it is, here before you now, a true product of my humble writer's soul... theee nexxttttt chaaaappppteeerrrr.

Anybody who can tell me where I stole and mangled that from gets ten cool points.

[DH SPOLIERS

I realize that the release of DH changes a few things, i.e. Fred (I did in the wrong twin!) and Remus (so unfair! I was disappointed. And I cried. Remus was the only one I cried for. Because you just don't do that!!! Not to Remus.)

[END SPOILERS (Whoever hasn't read it by now probably knows anyway, but I'm nice.)

Anyway, we are now a quasi-alternate universe fic! Hurray. Onward.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tom's eyes looked dead. Not the sort of dead she had seen when he was being controlled by the more sinister part of his brain dead, but…he looked like he had given up. This was in bright contrast to the bright smile he gave her as she walked into potions class. She had almost been late today, of course, and the only open seat was next to him. Of course. Not that she really minded sitting next to the dark haired young man, but being that close to him always made her heart race and her palms to sweat in a way that she was sure he could notice. She threw herself onto the stool anyway.

"Good morning, Natalie."

She looked at him, and knew something was wrong. "What's happened, Oliver? Something's amiss, you might as well say."

His plastic smile withered immediately. "Remus died last night," he said quietly, staring ahead at the chalkboard, which was beginning to write out instructions for the day's assignment. The other students talked quietly around them; Professor Slughorn chortled happily on the other side of the room.

Her breath hitched at the news. "I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

His gaze hardened; his face lost all emotion. "He had a heart attack. We knew it was likely; werewolves rarely live as long as he did."

She looked around the room. No one was acting differently. With the way Oliver was adored, she thought there would be an overload of pity. "Does anybody know?"

Oliver shook his head. "Only the staff. Everyone will find out soon enough- Harry's devastated." Indeed he would be; from what Natalie knew, Lupin had been Harry's only living mentor and best friend.

She took a long look at the pale boy. She knew that Oliver looked down on things such a love and friendship, but Lupin had been his surrogate _father. _ "So how are you? Feeling, I mean."

"I am not sure. I feel…different."

She laid a hand softly on his arm. "Sad?"

He frowned. "Maybe. I do not know what 'sad' feels like. Why would I feel that way anyway?"

"Oliver, he was…" She wanted to say Remus was someone he loved, but thought the better of it. "He was part of your family. It's alright to feel sad."

_Tom Riddle, this is a good thing. Now that Lupin is dead, there is one less person to hold you back. _

"Shut up!" He exclaimed suddenly, startling her. She got the feeling she wasn't the only one he was talking to. "Shut up. I don't know how I feel. I don't even know if I can feel at all."

_There is no room for emotion. _

"Of course you can feel," Natalie exclaimed, gaining a shush from the Professor. "You're human, just like the rest of us."

Tom felt like darkness was crushing him and everything around him.

"Am I?" he whispered.

_Why be human when you can be so much more?_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Um, Natalie?"

She turned her head. It was Darren Yates, a seventh year from Ravenclaw. They had been friends for a while now; they both belonged to the same study group. The tall blond boy looked embarrassed as he caught up to her in the hallway. "What's up, Darren?" she asked distractedly. They were headed to lunch, and Natalie was trying to get there quickly- she had a half written essay due in an hour.

The handsome, but rather bookish, boy blushed a deep red. Natalie had always liked Darren- he was sweet, and always helped her out with her Astronomy work.

"I- I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow," he stuttered, his blush spreading down below his collar.

Natalie was taken aback. Plenty of boys had asked her out on dates this year, but they had all been the shallow jerks that she was set against. This was the first boy she knew to be kind who had taken any interest. "Well, I…" Her thoughts raced, skimming quickly over pros and cons. She found herself thinking of Oliver. It had been a few weeks since Remus died, but he had remained distant as usual. She couldn't help but to picture his face. _But the thing is, he won't even be my friend…_ She straightened.

"That sounds like fun, Darren. I'd love to."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day dawned bright and clear. Natalie met Darren in the main hall, butterflies flitting about in her stomach. She had never been on a date before.

Darren looked nervous and adorable in a brown turtleneck and jeans, and she smiled at him as they walked towards the village. They chatted about everything and nothing. It was pleasant. Natalie didn't have many friends; she wasn't used to going out and about with someone she wasn't already close to. Murphy had been shocked when Natalie had told her they couldn't go shopping together because she had a date; that sort of thing didn't happen. Until now, at least.

They strolled about for a while, window shopping and dipping into Honeydukes for marmalade mallows, which turned out to be Darren's favorite as well as hers. Darren breathed a huge sigh of relief when Natalie told him she'd rather not go to Madame Puddifoot's.

They sat quietly in the corner of the Three Broomsticks for a while, simply enjoying each other's company. That was one thing she had always liked about Darren; he was content to be silent instead of filling time with unnecessary talk, just as she was. They got along awfully well.

After a while, Darren took her hand. She smiled, letting him know it was alright. And it was alright; she didn't mind in the slightest. She had never had such a good time in her life. But she couldn't help but think of a different boy, one with dark hair and eyes the color of onyx.

And as if though called, he walked through the door, surrounded by admirers. They might as well have been the only two people in the room- his gaze locked onto hers. Oliver looked at Darren, and at their hands linked across the table. And unnamed emotion flitted across his eyes before he turned his back to them, effectively ignoring her altogether.

"Can we go? I'm feeling awfully tired all of a sudden," Natalie said quietly, looking quickly away from the back of Oliver's head.

Darren agreed in earnest, berating himself for keeping her out so long. His sweet nature cheered her immensely; she assured him it wasn't his fault. They walked slowly back to the castle, fingers intertwined. He was even thoughtful enough to walk her back the common room. She paused outside the threshold, twisting a strand of hair round and round in her fingers. "I had fun today," she said, smiling into his chocolate brown eyes.

Darren shifted anxiously, a grin playing on his lips. "Me too. Maybe we could…do it again sometime?"

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Of course," she said, slipping through the portrait hole.

Darren waited until the frame was firmly attached to the wall before giving a great whoop of excitement, still holding his tingling cheek.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalie fell into bed with a content smile. She didn't really feel like going down to the Quidditch field tonight; she'd rather get a good night's sleep for once.


End file.
